Happy Ending
by Imaginari-Mari
Summary: After the war, everyone expected a happily ever after. Those dreams proved much, much better than the reality they lived in. A series of oneshots centered around the misfortunes suffered by our favorite characters.
1. Monster

Happy Ending

**Happy Ending**

**Summary:** After the war, everyone expected a happily ever after. Those dreams proved much, much better than the reality they lived in. A series of oneshots centered on the misfortunes suffered by our favorite characters.

**Chapter 1: Monster**

"You monster!" she shrieked, still barely heard above the pounding rain and thunderclaps.

Ron's hands were kept out of sight by the folds of the unknown bint's skirt, his body flush against hers as the blush began to creep down his neck. An empty bottle of vodka lay on the bed beside the two would-be lovers, indicating that Ron was well past the point of sober when he began cheating on his fiancé.

Hermione was still sopping wet as she strode into their shared bedroom, her mind on autopilot. Ron, who was beginning to realize the gravity of the situation despite the fact that he could barely count the fingers on his left – or was that his right? – hand, quickly scrambled off of the nameless blonde, but not before Hermione landed a resounding slap to his cheek.

The blow came with such force and was such a shock that it knocked him off of the bed and onto his backside, probably aided by the reaction-time diminishing effects of the alcohol.

"Hermy- I mean, 'Mione-" he began to slur.

"Shut up," Hermione hissed, rage now coursing through her as she clenched her jaw. "Just shut the _fuck_ up, you bastard. And you!" she rounded on the poor, unsuspecting girl who had viewed the escalating scene with an ever-increasing sense of terror, "get the FUCK out of my house."

The girl hesitated, and stupidly looked at Ron for aid.

Hermione snapped.

She grabbed the girl's hair and yanked her off of the bed, slamming her knees into the floor. She then walked to the door, dragging the struggling and flailing girl behind her, and vaguely noted that the girl needed to bleach her hair; her mouse brown roots were beginning to show. Hermione threw the girl bodily from the room, her heretofore unknown strength causing the girl to slam into the wall.

Wisely, the blonde then got up and ran out of the house.

Ron, by this point, had gotten up. The sight of Hermione on a rampage had sobered him considerably. As his fiancé turned around to face him, her eyes blazing, he began to back away, which only served to further infuriate the bushy-haired bookworm.

He was up against the wall when suddenly the life seemed to blow out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she halted her advance, instead looking around the room in a rather dazed way, her eyes now glistening.

"Hermione-" Ron began, not sure of what to say.

"Fuck off," she murmured, still looking lost, but his words at least gave her body purpose. She walked over to the closet, ignoring his clothes as she yanked out a suitcase. She pulled her wand out of the red leather purse that still dangled off of her shoulder, and, ignoring Ron's reactionary flinch, flicked her wand at the closet. Her clothes flew neatly into the suitcase; once it was full, it closed and latched of its own volition.

Hermione then looked up at her fiancé. Her face was impassive, a mask.

"I'm going."

Ron shook his head. "No, Hermione- where would you go? Please, let me explain."

Hermione sneered. "You can explain tomorrow, when I'm back for the rest of my things. Although, given my present mood, I don't recommend you actually being around for that."

She turned on her heel, levitating the suitcase in front of her with her wand, pausing in the hallway at the sound of Ron's whimper.

"Don't leave. Please."

Without turning around, she forced a response out of her gritted teeth.

"Goodbye, Ron."


	2. Pink

Ginny sat trembling, perched on the toilet seat in the bathroom of Grimmauld Place

**Happy Ending**

**A\N**: I wanted to make Ginny seem as irrationally paranoid as possible. Did I succeed?

**Chapter 2: Pink**

Ginny sat trembling, perched on the toilet seat in the bathroom of Grimmauld Place. Her wand lay on the counter within arm's reach, and pink hued sparkles glittered just in front of her face.

Pink. The damn glitter was _pink_. She wasn't pregnant.

The words sunk into her conscious mind, and she almost retched as the anxiety flooded over her. She wasn't pregnant. Not with child; there was no proverbial bun in the oven.

And Harry was going to leave her.

She gagged as another wave of worry crashed over her, forcing her to her knees and drawing tears from her eyes. She couldn't lose him; that, she knew, would be the end of her.

For the past few weeks, Harry had been more and more distant. He claimed that it had everything to do with Hermione and Ron splitting up, but Ginny knew better. She knew that the tender glances he sent towards his second oldest friend were more than friendly. She knew that their embraces in the name of comfort belied something much, much different than the platonic friendship they claimed to share.

She knew Harry was in love with the wench, and she was losing him to her and her manipulations.

Granger had manipulated Ron to get to Harry; it was all part of some elaborate scheme, and while the youngest Weasley son turned to Old Ogden for comfort and carefully avoided the Burrow for fear of reprimand, Hermione was free to claim a broken heart and a depressed soul while she dug her claws into Ginny's Harry. She was brilliant and crafty, but she hadn't counted on Ginevra Weasley figuring out her plan/.

She had realized all of this two week's previous, at Sunday brunch at the Burrow. Hermione, the bitch, had made an appearance only at Harry's request. Molly had greeted the brunette with a motherly bear hug, apologizing the entire time for the behavior of Ronal Bilius Weasley, who "had yet to show his face or her wrath."

Ginny could understand this; after all, at that time, she had believed Ron to be solely in the wrong. However, Hermione never left Harry's side for that entire Sunday; her hand frequently clutched onto his arm as sadness periodically robbed her of speech and engulfed her.

Ginny, as Harry's girlfriend, could not bear it. Yes, she spent nearly every moment he wasn't working with him; yes, she shared his bed at Number 12. But she knew, deep down, that just being around him wasn't enough. She need to tie him to her, with a bond that he would never dream of breaking for a best friend who so obviously wanted to steal him away.

She needed to get pregnant.

So, she stopped taking her birth-control potion, and she conveniently 'forgot' to place the Contraception Charm just before she and Harry's every sexual encounter. So, she sat every morning in the bathroom as Harry prepared breakfast with the aid of Kreacher, casting an Immediate Pregnancy Detection Spell and praying for a positive result every time.

All she wanted was for, just once, those sparkles to come out blue.

"Gin?" came Harry's voice from the hallway, outside of the closed bathroom door.

"Yea," she replied, her voice still carrying traces of her anxiety and disappointment in its abnormally high pitch.

"Breakfast is on the table; I've already eaten. Hermione wants to go talk to McGonagall about the Transfiguration and Defense positions still open at Hogwarts." His reply indicated that he noticed nothing amiss.

She felt her temper spiral out of control; her face, within a few seconds, was nearly the same color as her flaming hair. How _dare_ that bitch make her eat breakfast alone while she scouted out opportunities to be with, touch and even _look_ at Harry every single goddamn day. She was absofuckinglutely wrong if she thought she could pull the wool over Ginny's eyes.

A few moments of silence passed.

"Gin?" came Harry's voice again, now with a trace of concern.

In a split second's decision, she had gotten up off of the floor, strode to the door and wrenched it open. The power behind this action caused Harry to stumble backwards, his eyes wide.

"What's up, Ginny?"

She forced her mouth in a smile that was far more sickly than sweet, and met his eyes. Immediately, she felt herself relax. All she needed was him. And she knew just how to keep him.

"Nothing's wrong, darling," she cooed. "I'm pregnant."


	3. Mumble

Happy Ending

**Happy Ending**

**A/N: ** Sorry for the ridiculously long update; with it being summer, I should have plenty of time to do this, and yet I somehow manage to remain as busy as ever. It's short today, but I should have another update out in the next day or two.

A million thanks to my reviewers; you guys are awesome!

**Chapter 3: Mumble**

A loud gasp was heard from the doorway of the Burrow's downstairs bathroom. It was three o'clock on a Monday morning, and Arthur Weasley had been awoken by the crack of apparition into the kitchen that could only mean one thing: one of his sons had drunkenly appeared. Again.

Arthur had gotten up from bed, careful not to wake Molly, and crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. There, he had found a trail of spilled alcohol leading from the kitchen and ito the hallway, ending on the floor of the freshly renovated bathroom.

A redheaded, freckled man lay unconscious and slumped on the tile floor, the toilet filled with unflushed vomit, and his face lying in a puddle of drool that had leaked from his slack jaw.

The empty bottle of vodka sat on the counter, although most of the original contents of the counter – including the soap, and Molly's favorite hand towel – lay soaking in the Smirnoff on the floor.

Each member of his family had a piece ripped from his heart when Fred passed away, and each member of his family had dealt with it differently. Bill and Fleur filled their lives with children. Ron and Hermione threw themselves into their careers. Molly had decorated the Burrow entirely, although she had left everything of Fred's in its original place. Charlie had gotten married, and Ginny and Harry had traveled extensively.

Only one had found solace in a bottle.

A mumble broke the silence and tore Arthur's attention away from his reflections. His son had spoken too softly for him to hear him clearly, but he had heard that sentiment every time he had apparated into his parents' house.

"It should have been me," Percy would whisper, his voice filled with tears. "It should've been me."


End file.
